


Here Today

by unitedstateofpeacecitizen



Series: In Our Life [2]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: 1976, AU, F/F, F/M, Here Today, Multi, New York City, The Dakota, maybe slash if you squint, the last meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unitedstateofpeacecitizen/pseuds/unitedstateofpeacecitizen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April 25th, 1976.</p><p>The McCartney's visit New York City just before the start of their US Wing's tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Today

When the desk clerk rung up that evening to announce a visitor, the last person Joan expected was Paula.

Well, Paula and Liam, as it were. 

It was almost surreal. For the last few years, it seemed as if they lived on two different planes of this world that only crossed every few moons. They were almost strangers now-- _How many children did the McCartneys have now?_ Joan challenged herself, even as both of the couples sat in the Lennon's living room, chatting it up as the television mumbled quietly in the background. It seemed for a while now that every time she turned around, they were popping out another one. _Two? No-- Three. It's three. I know it's just three._

The conversation was surprisingly pleasant. Not that either of the former Beatles held nearly the amount of hostility towards each other that the media liked to imagine. But for the first time in so many years, they spoke freely, without tension, the words coming easily. Perhaps it was because they weren't forced in to a humid, cramped studio together twelve hours a day. Trapped with their sour moods and rancid tunes. Those days seemed so long ago, almost like a dream. As if they never existed at all.

The two of them were laughing together like- _like_ - 

_Like old friends._

They even got their moods up enough to strum out a few jingly tunes. It reminded Joan of those late nights at Mendips. _Was that really twenty years ago?_

"-- So, do tell. How's house-life treatin' ya, then?" Paula chuckled, one leg hiked up on the couch cushions as she faced Joan. They'd sent the men off long ago; Yoko back to his office on the next floor up, and Liam out to the Dakota's front, perhaps even beyond, into the Central Park green.

 _Taking a few photos_ , McCartney mused to herself. 

Roaching her cigarette and immediately reaching for another, Joan smiles as she lights the fag, "S'great, ya know. I get t'see Sean everyday, all day. I mean, it's _amazin_ ' the things kids do, if I wasn't home-- I'd miss all of it. He's six months old and he's already _brilliant_."

It was like a practical joke, hearing Lennon talk that way about being a house wife. Lennon, who upon finding out about her first pregnancy, was absolutely **appalled** at the idea of staying home. Of being **domesticated** in such a way. _God, was that really **fourteen** years ago?_

"I jus' don't wanna fuck 'em up. He was a real miracle, ya know? After all the shite Yoko'n me went through to have 'em-- I think he's gonna be m'last. He's m'last chance t'do this whole motherin' thing right." It was no secret, to anyone, that Joan had fucked Julian over in more ways than one. She screwed him up. Never there when he needed her, or too busy to bother.

Too caught up in the LSD laced cloud of the late 60’s.

It was only in those last two or three years that the former musician had begun to really regret her actions-- And had started to make more of an effort to reach out to the now teenage boy.  

~~_But how much repair could really be done to their shattered relationship?_ ~~

Putting up a hand, Paula shook her head, "I get what you're sayin'. You don't have to explain anything t'me, you know. Not about Jules or..." She trailed off, ending the sentence with a long, thankful drag of the thick smoke. Maybe it wasn't her business, but she knew just as well how awful Joan had been to Julian. Hell, _Paula'd_ treated him more like a son than she did. But was she going to say that? And get her teeth knocked out? Certainly not!

Many things had changed over the years. Lennon’s rapid-fire temper was **not** one of them. Or— So she _heard_.

Desperate for a change in conversation, Joan rolled her wrist and turned to face her mate just a bit more, "-- What about your lil' rugby team? How many do ya have now? Ten? _Twelve_?" 

With a snort, Paula lunged forward to snatch her purse from the coffee table, digging through it's jumbled contents for her billfold, "A _Baker's dozen_ , in fact! But we've sent the other ten off t'the farm, ya know, they pay a helluva lot for each head." If she couldn't escape the teasing, she might as well go along with it.

"We've gone and kept the three prettiest of the lot, see?" She offered Joan the open wallet, intended solely for ferrying pictures, as none of them were known to carry paper money. 

Taking the billfold, Joan found that the familiar pang of jealousy no longer struck her upon seeing the Macca brood. Not since having Sean. Two children sated her-- _But good **God** , McCartney was a different story. _

"Lookit 'em, all perfect eyebrows and perfect hair-- No denyin' it, they're yours." Thumbing through the polaroids, Joan paused upon the oldest's picture-- A school picture, in fact. All prim and proper. "Who's s'heartbreaker? That's not Heather." The concept of time seemed so foreign in Joan's mind, most days. The thought of Heather was still just a small girl, running about the studio and adjusting her mic for her as she belted out a tune for the _Let It Be_  album.

 _Funny, that,_ now that she thought about it. In the world of Lennon, everything seemed to be that way. Yoko was still a temptation out of reach, berating her for biting into his apple-- Oh, his **art** , at the Indica Gallery. Paula was still that little Liverpool girl that Joan was slowly corrupting into a Ted; Undoing all the discipline and manners Jim and Mary had instilled in her from birth. She was still young and vulnerable. Needing to be led to the bus station from the Cavern by the rough Lennonite girl, who would put her on the bus with her last sixpence, and then walk home, herself, in the English drizzle. 

"No, it really is-- She's gonna be fourteen, this year." Joan was pulled from her thoughts by Paula's voice, broody strain in her tone.

"Fourteen, mate. Can you believe that _I've_ got'a teenager?" Wasn't it only yesterday that **she** was fourteen? Playing that bloody trumpet that Jim had invested in— But yearning for a _guitar_? A proper _snog_ from a cute lad?

The thought of Heather seeking a lip lock from a boy her own age makes Paula's skin **crawl**. 

_Do as I say, not as I do._

Handing the photos back, the guitarist lit yet another fag and shook her head, "Fuck, when'd we get so _old_?" How many good years did a rocker really have? _At least_ , Joan thought, s _he'd dropped off that merry go 'round early_ \-- While all the rest of the group seemed to think they would be in the spotlight forever. _No, no. She'd be **forty** in four years-- It was time to stop, wasn't it?_

"And _Julian_ \-- God, we've _both_ got teenagers, Macca. I seem t'remember bein' barely older when we started beltin' out tunes for pennies on’a dollar. _Hello, little girl_!” Squawking out the tune, she snorted obnoxiously, smoke leaking from her nostrils.

_Fuck, she hated that song._

Paula paused. Suddenly quite interested in her ciggie’s foam filter.

 _Hell_ , Joan thought, _Macca was such a bloody bipolar baby_. One minute up, the next minute down. She was too old to be playin’  that game.

“ _What_?” Lennon squinted, chin leaning onto her palm. _On with it then, ya git._

Taking a deep breath, Paula rolls her wrist, a casual shrug to her shoulders as she glanced across the room and out of the window, taking in that Manhattan sunset. “It’s just— They’re saying’ you’re not comin’ back. Ya know? That you’re never gonna record again.”

 _ **Fucking**_ — _She knew it_. Paula never could leave well enough alone. Always had to push and prod. Joan knew this wasn’t a simple. friendly-like visit.

“ _And_?” Came the cool reply, as the older woman stood to stroll to the bay window of the parlor— Roaching her half-smoked cancer, only to immediately light another up. ~~Nerves~~.

"Is it true?”

Silence filled the room.

Because, well, Joan didn’t really know the answer her own self. She’d be forty. And no one wanted to listen to a pitiful old woman sing— _Did they?_

“What if it is? Ya gonna convince me otherwise? The great McCartney come t’save the day, then?”

Paula’s eyes rolled of their own accord. Of course Joan would jump to conclusions like that— As if that’s the whole reason she came in the first place. But of course, it _wasn’t_!

~~_—… Was it?_ ~~

Standing to follow her former band-mate, Macca lets out an exasperated sigh, arms folding tightly across her chest. “Look. I know ya’ve got some preconceived notion that you’re too _old_ t’be recording— But it’s not true! Ya silly tit, I mean, what we were playin’ just a while ago was great and—“

Joan puts up a hand to stop the lecture, interjecting with heavily accented words as rage boiled in the pit of her stomach. This was **_her_** home, and if Paula thought that she could come in and give Joan a lecture? Oh no, that would _**not**_ do.

“Ya know what yer problem is, Macca? Ya don’t understand. Ya never have. Fer’ the past fifteenth years, I’ve had t’record for someone, anytime they demanded it. A record ev'ry six months, a single? Ev’ry three! And now? No one owns me, but **me**. No one tell me what’ve gotta do. Ever. And if you wanna play that fuckin’ game ‘till yer’ sixty-four? Go _right-a-fuckin’-head_. But don’t come inta’ **my** house an’ piss on me fer’ given’ it up.

You an’ I are _worlds_ away. When I said I didn’t wanna hold yer’ hand anymore, I meant it— And it ain’t  changin’.”

 _Silence_.

And there it was. Joan Lennon had laid it out. And by the look on Paula’s features, a mix of confusion and just plain hurt— She understood.

 _Understood_ that it was over.

In that moment, Paula finally felt that she had no idea who Joan was anymore.

For the first time, they were **strangers**.

The Beatles really _were_ dissolved.

Gone.

For good.

“— Well. I better be gettin’ on. Can’t leave the kiddies ‘lone at the hotel f’too long, ya know.” There was pain in her words at Paula’s retreated; Slinging her purse over her shoulder. There was nothing more to be said. At least, not at _that_ moment.

Maybe Paula would give it a year, and then come on back— Give Joan time to forget. To forgive. Even if McCartney hadn’t really done anything wrong— She found it best not to question Lennon’s strange perceptions of reality.

Leading the woman to the door, Joan opened it generously for Paula— Regret _already_ settled into her bones. She really _was_ getting old. A young Lennon would have held onto that anger for at least a week’s time.

As Paula turned to give her farewell, Joan thrust her arm out on impulse. A handshake? A handshake. No hug. No borderline-queer kiss. No laughing. No jovial hair tussles of Paula’s always-perfect hair.

“I’ll be see in’ ya, then.”

With hesitation, Paula took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. Brave-faced for the world she was about to face. The world without so much as the illusion that she still had a best mate to run to.

“Guess so.”

 

 

And as the elevator attendant expressed his deepest, excitable regards for her fame, Paula snapped from her dazed stupor to give him that famous, charming smile.

_Life went on._

 

 

And as the door clicked closed, and Sean’s cry filled the hallway, Joan was pulled from her somber thoughts.

_Life went on._

~~_And then it stopped._ ~~

 

* * *

_  
McCartney left for Dallas, Texas, where the following day Wings began rehearsals for the US leg of their world tour. Although she stayed in contact with Lennon until the latter's death in 1980, the pair would never again meet face-to-face._


End file.
